Saturday, January 16, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Little Luxuries
A long, trying day today, traveling from exuberance to despair and some points in between. This morning I slipped away from work and took an easy train to see my sister and her partner off on their adventure to India, in high spirits. The day sputtered forward. This evening I skipped the ski waxing class I'd been planning on for weeks because a pleasant, helpful and simultaneously crushing conversation, after a draining day, left me too downhearted to show my face in public.
I have learned, as most of us will though none of us really has to, that money cannot buy or even rent happiness. It can, however, prove to be a tremendous source of significant comfort. Today I found yet another box of goods on my doorstep, more stuff to fill up the space, a few more things to afford. I've been making a fair amount of "impulse" purchases lately, just to fill out the profile of the single going-on-forty pseudo-professional foreign-car-driving white female urban homeowner. Some of these have actually been pretty good, if not great, ideas. One of them came in the mail today.
As cozy as my little home is, I've been spending the nights with my down sleeping bag wrapped around me, under my wool comforter, to keep off the chill. (I guess you know you've entered a new stage of life when the bag you bought two summers ago for fast-and-light backpacking in the wilderness has only ever been put to use in your own bed...) A sleeping bag is a curious thing: once you've spent a few nights out in places dark and frigid, it becomes something akin to a second skin, that winter coat of fur we always wanted (along with the tail, and the pointy teeth...) but never got to try on. It's a comfort as well as a reminder of a different way to pass the night, always a pleasure to crawl into. Even so, something just doesn't work about sleeping that way in one's own bed, night after night, and on top of that a bag rated to 15 degrees F is just way too much insulation for indoor temperatures. So the other night I got sucked in by the Sale Of The Decade and bought myself a brand spanking new blanket. I know, crazy, right?
But this blanket, you see, it's not some microfleece number from a big box store. It's not a fairly traded environmentally responsible organic cotton waffle-weave. It's not even an indispensably-tried-and-true-only-blanket-you'll-ever-need woolen beauty from the local mill. And no, okay, it's not made from snow leopard hides, or unicorn farts... it's just one hundred percent gorgeous, decadent, delicate, dry-clean friggin' only, who-do-I-think-I'm-kidding-this-time silk. When I brought the box inside I was thinking I shouldn't even bother opening it, but instead just slap a label on it and send it back, because even at that price this has to be a stupid idea. Sure, silk's an ancient Chinese secret (or possibly Indian, come to think of it) and a great insulator and super strong and wildly, naturally wonderful, but is this really practical and moreover, is this even allowed? What's wrong with sleeping with a sleeping bag? Isn't that what they're for? So what if this divine article is the color of perfect clear jade or if it's fuzzier than a baby tiger's belly button or if its slinky charmeuse edge has me on the verge of revisiting that whole thumb-sucking phase?
You can probably tell where I'm headed with this.
To bed, is where I'm headed.
To tell the truth, after a day like today, I might have preferred the luxury of having someone to talk to when I got home, or a hug, or the sound of someone else's footsteps on the basement stairs. Then again, this really is one damn fine blanket.
I have learned, as most of us will though none of us really has to, that money cannot buy or even rent happiness. It can, however, prove to be a tremendous source of significant comfort. Today I found yet another box of goods on my doorstep, more stuff to fill up the space, a few more things to afford. I've been making a fair amount of "impulse" purchases lately, just to fill out the profile of the single going-on-forty pseudo-professional foreign-car-driving white female urban homeowner. Some of these have actually been pretty good, if not great, ideas. One of them came in the mail today.
As cozy as my little home is, I've been spending the nights with my down sleeping bag wrapped around me, under my wool comforter, to keep off the chill. (I guess you know you've entered a new stage of life when the bag you bought two summers ago for fast-and-light backpacking in the wilderness has only ever been put to use in your own bed...) A sleeping bag is a curious thing: once you've spent a few nights out in places dark and frigid, it becomes something akin to a second skin, that winter coat of fur we always wanted (along with the tail, and the pointy teeth...) but never got to try on. It's a comfort as well as a reminder of a different way to pass the night, always a pleasure to crawl into. Even so, something just doesn't work about sleeping that way in one's own bed, night after night, and on top of that a bag rated to 15 degrees F is just way too much insulation for indoor temperatures. So the other night I got sucked in by the Sale Of The Decade and bought myself a brand spanking new blanket. I know, crazy, right?
But this blanket, you see, it's not some microfleece number from a big box store. It's not a fairly traded environmentally responsible organic cotton waffle-weave. It's not even an indispensably-tried-and-true-only-blanket-you'll-ever-need woolen beauty from the local mill. And no, okay, it's not made from snow leopard hides, or unicorn farts... it's just one hundred percent gorgeous, decadent, delicate, dry-clean friggin' only, who-do-I-think-I'm-kidding-this-time silk. When I brought the box inside I was thinking I shouldn't even bother opening it, but instead just slap a label on it and send it back, because even at that price this has to be a stupid idea. Sure, silk's an ancient Chinese secret (or possibly Indian, come to think of it) and a great insulator and super strong and wildly, naturally wonderful, but is this really practical and moreover, is this even allowed? What's wrong with sleeping with a sleeping bag? Isn't that what they're for? So what if this divine article is the color of perfect clear jade or if it's fuzzier than a baby tiger's belly button or if its slinky charmeuse edge has me on the verge of revisiting that whole thumb-sucking phase?
You can probably tell where I'm headed with this.
To bed, is where I'm headed.
To tell the truth, after a day like today, I might have preferred the luxury of having someone to talk to when I got home, or a hug, or the sound of someone else's footsteps on the basement stairs. Then again, this really is one damn fine blanket.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Good Life
Feeling the lack of veg in my life lately, I stopped by the co-op on the way home this evening to pick up some things green, orange, pink, red, hoping to lift my sagging spirits some. All those quick and easy carbohydrates that I've been depending on to see me through the new dwelling's disfunctional kitchen phase are starting to weigh me down a bit, I think. Fresh spring mix, grapefruits, red pepper, broccoli, clementines, pears should do...Wandering aisles rather haphazardly, I found myself somewhere close to coconut milk and the thought then crossed my mind that I might make a nice red curry, so I took a few steps back toward cauliflower, thinking about bamboo shoots and what else? and then realized that I don't actually have a pot in which to cook such a dish. I had to laugh. I have three little pots, is that all? That's just silly, it really is.
Back at home, I threw off my work clothes and dug up some sweats from the pile on the bedroom floor which has been serving as my "walk-in" closet. Works for now, although I might need something a little better organized before I leave for Paris, I suppose, since all the rest of my apparently totally unnecessary clothes are still in suitcases which I'm going to have to empty before I pack for the trip...
Anyway, I'd been meaning to pull up a copy of last year's seed inventory since Sunday, so I tromped down to the basement and hauled my old computer upstairs, thinking I'd just hook it up to my work laptop (on which I have diligently been putting in overtime for the past three weeks) for easy viewing, but discovered that the ancient beast of a monitor that I have on loan is so old that the cord's wired in, so the whole mess had to be set up again, only all the furniture on which it might sit--all, um, two pieces, that is--are still in the basement, which is where I have now set up my new home office:
So after all that screwing around I decided it was too late to put together a squash casserole tonight and opted to dine instead on my appetizer of choice, a fingerful of mayonnaisse, followed by my old stand-by: frozen peas (5lb bag on sale!), corn and edamame, cooked with fresh carrots. With copious amounts of butter, salt and freshly ground black pepper (if you can figure out whereever the hell the pepper went to...), you can't go wrong.
This is living.
I mean, really, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Back at home, I threw off my work clothes and dug up some sweats from the pile on the bedroom floor which has been serving as my "walk-in" closet. Works for now, although I might need something a little better organized before I leave for Paris, I suppose, since all the rest of my apparently totally unnecessary clothes are still in suitcases which I'm going to have to empty before I pack for the trip...
Anyway, I'd been meaning to pull up a copy of last year's seed inventory since Sunday, so I tromped down to the basement and hauled my old computer upstairs, thinking I'd just hook it up to my work laptop (on which I have diligently been putting in overtime for the past three weeks) for easy viewing, but discovered that the ancient beast of a monitor that I have on loan is so old that the cord's wired in, so the whole mess had to be set up again, only all the furniture on which it might sit--all, um, two pieces, that is--are still in the basement, which is where I have now set up my new home office:
(note the rather lackluster debut of my new camera, here.)
So after all that screwing around I decided it was too late to put together a squash casserole tonight and opted to dine instead on my appetizer of choice, a fingerful of mayonnaisse, followed by my old stand-by: frozen peas (5lb bag on sale!), corn and edamame, cooked with fresh carrots. With copious amounts of butter, salt and freshly ground black pepper (if you can figure out whereever the hell the pepper went to...), you can't go wrong.
This is living.
I mean, really, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Constellation
I guess it must be telling me something about this country I live in when the fact that my car won't start, for reasons mysterious, makes me realize just how very alone I could be.
There's a strong cold wind from the south tonight, and the skies are black and clear. I squint in the cold, gazing up at Orion and Taurus, the Seven Sisters, and try to let my eyes take in all those stars I can see when it's winter like this, the ones that glisten like dewdrops on a spiderweb, so many, many more than I can possibly know are there.
There's a strong cold wind from the south tonight, and the skies are black and clear. I squint in the cold, gazing up at Orion and Taurus, the Seven Sisters, and try to let my eyes take in all those stars I can see when it's winter like this, the ones that glisten like dewdrops on a spiderweb, so many, many more than I can possibly know are there.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Gift
It's a ribbon I found, lying on the stone sidewalk, under the wind, so delicate and sheer, such deep green even on a grey day, outside a grey building, on the grey ground, that it stopped the tears welling in my eyes when I saw it, and bent to pick it up.
It's a box I took, from the closet in my sister's old room--both of theirs, at one time--where all the wrappings of years of Christmases and birthdays are kept on one side, overflowing with colors, and on the other hang my grandmother's best dresses and suits, many made by her own hand, most too small for any of us to try, except by holding them up in the mirror.
It's a piece of glass, worn by the river, discovered one summer by my brother who sees such things, like magic, handed to me as an offering, which I accepted, and held to the light, in which I saw concentric rings of tiny dots, and next to them, four letters:
E
V
E
R
It's a box I took, from the closet in my sister's old room--both of theirs, at one time--where all the wrappings of years of Christmases and birthdays are kept on one side, overflowing with colors, and on the other hang my grandmother's best dresses and suits, many made by her own hand, most too small for any of us to try, except by holding them up in the mirror.
It's a piece of glass, worn by the river, discovered one summer by my brother who sees such things, like magic, handed to me as an offering, which I accepted, and held to the light, in which I saw concentric rings of tiny dots, and next to them, four letters:
E
V
E
R
Fine, dammit, I guess I'm going to have to do it. I hereby resolve to at least attempt to establish a few better habits in this, The Year We Make Contact. Among my best intentions:
To take that one hour I piss away every day and spend 20 minutes stretching, 20 minutes singing, and 20 minutes reading (it's really the very least I can do.)
To spend at least as much time playing piano as I do looking for furniture on craigslist.
To take my camera out for a nice long walk at least once a week.
To stop being mean to myself for no good reason, or for good reason, or for any reason at all.
To budget like I need it.
To take care of my back.
To master at least one tune on my autoharp.
To get that recipe project going again and keep it going until it's done.
There, now I've passed over yet another threshold in the short and dizzyingly ugly hallway leading (at just a slightly awkward angle) toward mediocrity... Add my list to the pile.
To take that one hour I piss away every day and spend 20 minutes stretching, 20 minutes singing, and 20 minutes reading (it's really the very least I can do.)
To spend at least as much time playing piano as I do looking for furniture on craigslist.
To take my camera out for a nice long walk at least once a week.
To stop being mean to myself for no good reason, or for good reason, or for any reason at all.
To budget like I need it.
To take care of my back.
To master at least one tune on my autoharp.
To get that recipe project going again and keep it going until it's done.
There, now I've passed over yet another threshold in the short and dizzyingly ugly hallway leading (at just a slightly awkward angle) toward mediocrity... Add my list to the pile.
Somebody Loves a Cabbage
Among my unprized and almost forgotten but dearly adored possessions is a rather rare copy of an original manuscript--a libretto, actually--for the remarkable though almost completely unknown (and never performed) operetta entitled "Nobody Loves a Cabbage". This gem, complete with hand-colored illustrations, is a first edition, published on a dot-matrix printer and bound by a pressboard cover, and is, in all probability, now one of only two or three in existence. It's truly a rarity of the finest sort.
It's been quite a long time since I've laid eyes on it, but as I recall, the refrain of the title song goes a little something like this:
Sheer genius.
In homage to this great work, and in an effort both to revive my lagging recipe project and to nourish your wintery souls, I offer up this simple and satisfying soup.
1 tbsp canola oil
1 onion, chopped, or more
3 tbsp sesame seeds
7 cups shredded cabbage (about 1/2 large head)
2 tomatoes, chopped (or one 14 oz. can diced tomatoes)
2 slices whole wheat or rye bread, diced, or more (or other dark bread)
6 cups vegetable stock (good bouillon will work just fine)
Salt, to taste
3 tbsp Tamari, Shoyu or (if you must) plain old soy sauce, or to taste
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp caraway seeds (optional)
Heat the canola oil over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed stockpot and saute the onion until it begins to soften, about 3 minutes. Add the sesame seeds and cabbage and continue to cook, stirring, over low heat, for about 10 minutes, until the cabbage has cooked down. Stir in the remaining ingredients, bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover and simmer for 45 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve hot.
This one comes from The Vegetarian Feast and is reprinted without permission, which I will deal with when the copyright police find me. Although the caraway is regarded by the author as optional, I think the soup would lack something significant without it. A nice rye or pumpernickel (or French Meadow Hemp, as I found out) is probably the way to go with the bread. Watch the salt--it might be a good idea to use unsalted vegetable stock and/or tomatoes, because the soy sauce will add a lot of saltiness, but is key to the richness of the broth, so don't skimp there. Quite tasty with ham and Swiss.
(With thanks to Mom, both for the cookbook--which I am glad to give another look, after all these years--and for introducing its contents, so deliciously. Gratitude, also, to the authors of the aforementioned work of art. You know who you are.)
It's been quite a long time since I've laid eyes on it, but as I recall, the refrain of the title song goes a little something like this:
Nobody (--Nobody!),
Nobody (--Nobody!),
Nobody loves a caa-ba-a-age...
Nobody (--Nobody!),
Nobody (--Nobody!),
Nobody loves a caa-ba-a-age...
Sheer genius.
In homage to this great work, and in an effort both to revive my lagging recipe project and to nourish your wintery souls, I offer up this simple and satisfying soup.
1 tbsp canola oil
1 onion, chopped, or more
3 tbsp sesame seeds
7 cups shredded cabbage (about 1/2 large head)
2 tomatoes, chopped (or one 14 oz. can diced tomatoes)
2 slices whole wheat or rye bread, diced, or more (or other dark bread)
6 cups vegetable stock (good bouillon will work just fine)
Salt, to taste
3 tbsp Tamari, Shoyu or (if you must) plain old soy sauce, or to taste
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp caraway seeds (optional)
Heat the canola oil over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed stockpot and saute the onion until it begins to soften, about 3 minutes. Add the sesame seeds and cabbage and continue to cook, stirring, over low heat, for about 10 minutes, until the cabbage has cooked down. Stir in the remaining ingredients, bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover and simmer for 45 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve hot.
This one comes from The Vegetarian Feast and is reprinted without permission, which I will deal with when the copyright police find me. Although the caraway is regarded by the author as optional, I think the soup would lack something significant without it. A nice rye or pumpernickel (or French Meadow Hemp, as I found out) is probably the way to go with the bread. Watch the salt--it might be a good idea to use unsalted vegetable stock and/or tomatoes, because the soy sauce will add a lot of saltiness, but is key to the richness of the broth, so don't skimp there. Quite tasty with ham and Swiss.
(With thanks to Mom, both for the cookbook--which I am glad to give another look, after all these years--and for introducing its contents, so deliciously. Gratitude, also, to the authors of the aforementioned work of art. You know who you are.)
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